


Master's Apprentice

by dreikorg



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, First Time, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 08:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17680079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreikorg/pseuds/dreikorg
Summary: Being apprenticed under Master Riddle, Harry learns what is to serve your master.





	Master's Apprentice

**Author's Note:**

> So... I didn't write this, but I've got permission to post it and edit it as I wished. Theoretically, I could also try to add more story after this, but I find it perfect as it is. Enjoy!

On his first day, Harry got off the wagon, turned in a semi-circle then immediately glared up at the driver. “This can’t be the right place!”

He could see nothing but sparse trees and the gently rolling land, just as empty as it had been when Harry gazed out at it from the wagon bed for the past eight hours.

“’Fraid so,” said the driver, pointing with his chin to a point to Harry’s left. Harry turned, and saw that a small tree by the roadside wore a hastily-carved sign reading: Elk Pass Stop.

  
Harry frowned, prepared to argue further, but the driver snapped his reins and the horses leapt into their harness. The wagon rattled off and left Harry behind, holding his heavy rucksack over his back and sure he’d been conned somehow. Though who had benefited, he couldn’t say.

Harry was seventeen, just out of Hogwarts, and three weeks ago he’d discovered he wasn’t a nameless Muggleborn orphan. He was still processing it, and in the midst of all his excitement over the discovery, he’d taken an apprenticeship. He still couldn’t believe he’d been chosen; in fact, the impression he was getting that it had all been a mistake made more sense than Harry being chosen for a prestigious opportunity. He was thoroughly average, talent on a broom notwithstanding, and as far as anyone but Ron and Hermione knew, he was Muggleborn as well.

Still, he’d been able to see the inconspicuously worded advertisement that was Charmed to appear only to eligible applicants, and when he’d sent out his owl – not really daring to hope, but feeling he had to try –, it had been swiftly returned with an acceptance note.  
Now, here he was, wondering if he’d made the whole thing up. But then there was a distant ringing sound, and a door sprang into existence out of thin air, directly adjacent to the crude little sign.

 

Harry was accustomed to strange things happening, even by magical standards, but he’d never seen anything quite like this. The door opened and a man stepped through. He was strange looking; his face refused to be handsome, exactly. Instead of wrinkles, his face seemed to be netted in very faint scars, and his eyes were a disconcerting red. But he was tall, imposing, and his teeth were even and white when he looked Harry over and smiled. Something shifted in Harry’s head, and the man was all at once the most beautiful person Harry had ever seen who was not in a photograph.

“Harry Evans?” he asked coolly. His smile had gone, but his eyes remained warm as blood and watchful on Harry’s, making him blush.  
Harry nodded. “Yes, I’m Harry. And you must be Master Riddle.”  
“‘Yes **sir** ,’” corrected Riddle very softly. “But ‘Master’ is correct. Come along, Harry.”

 

On his tenth day, Harry had finally learned the basic routine of his apprenticeship: wake early, while the door to Master Riddle’s part of the house stayed firmly closed. Make the tea; cast the spell to keep it hot; go to the grocer’s and the owl post station; return to the house to hand Master Riddle the Prophet just as he was sitting down, already dressed for the day and immaculate, to have his first sip of tea.

Then, Harry spent the middle of the day doing whichever errands Master Riddle thought to assign. He might be sent to the butcher for a particular bone or the garner for a particular gem; he once had to walk north for exactly one mile while carrying a chicken upside down by its feet, then drop a cup of his own blood--and the entirety of the poor chicken--into a cauldron full of rippling blue flames.

Then in the evenings, Draco Malfoy would arrive, and he and Master Riddle would disappear into the part of the house where Harry wasn't permitted. Draco would emerge, with red-rimmed eyes and mussed hair, sometime in the early night while Harry was shamelessly lingering in the tidying up around the entrance so that he could wonder what exact need Master Riddle had for the bully Harry remembered well from school.

But Harry became frustrated within his second week by Draco's presence, and the apparent specialized experience and training Draco was receiving but without any sort of formal apprentice relationship. After all, it was Harry who wore Master Riddle's collar, and Harry who was his apprentice. The Charmed parchment had recognized Harry's aptitude and Master Riddle had chosen him.

   
It wasn't until his twentieth day in Master Riddle's house that Harry worked up the nerve to broach the subject.  
He went about his morning duties as usual, but when he brought Master Riddle the Prophet, he stood his ground instead of immediately going to wash up the kettle and tea things.

Master Riddle studied his paper as though Harry wasn't there. Just when Harry was about to clear his throat and interrupt, he said calmly, "Yes, Harry?"  
As it always did, Harry's throat became slightly dry at the sound of his name on Master Riddle's tongue. He swallowed, and tried to sound more composed than he was. "Sir, I've been wondering..."

Master Riddle said nothing. He was evidently listening, but he seemed to be reading, also. When Harry stopped speaking, he said "Hmm?" still without looking up.

Something sparked angrily in Harry's chest. "I've been wondering what in Merlin's name Malfoy is doing here, when I was under the impression that I was your apprentice?"

Very slowly, Master Riddle lowered the paper and raised his head to stare directly into Harry’s eyes.

"Have you?" he asked. Harry did not mistake the note of danger in his voice, but he was feeling too bold to stop now.

"Yes," Harry said, then saw Master Riddle's eyes flash and amended, "Yes, sir. I went to school with Malfoy, sir. I know he has his talents, but I'm just as good as he is." That wasn't particularly true, especially, Harry assumed, as it related to Dark Arts and potioneering, but he didn't have to admit any of that. "Please, sir, let me do whatever it is you have him doing."

For some reason, the end of that statement made Master Riddle smile broadly. There was a too-long pause, and something shifted in the room. Harry was almost sure he felt heat in the metal band around his neck, but surely not? There was no magic in the collar. It was just a ceremonial gesture to the Master for an apprentice to wear it.

"Very well, Harry," said Master Riddle. He lifted his paper again and proceeded to ignore him with a pleased air around him.

  
The day resumed as usual. In fact, it was so ordinary that Harry almost thought he'd imagined the entire confrontation that morning. But in memory it was far too vivid to be anything but quite real. He couldn't reflect too carefully on the way it felt to be looked at directly by Master Riddle, or how he had said well, Harry and seemed pleased, and now that had made something coil low and hot in Harry's stomach and stay burning all day.

That evening, someone knocked and Harry, who had been tending the fire, startled and turned toward Master Riddle's armchair.

"Tell Draco I will not require his presence this evening," said Master Riddle, and Harry scrambled to his feet in a fresh daze of excitement.

It was wet outside, and Draco looked like a damp cat, and seemed about as cheerful as one, too. "Step aside, Potter," he muttered when Harry opened the door. Harry very smugly held his ground.

"Afraid not, Malfoy," he said, not quite able to conceal the delight in his voice. "Master Riddle won't be needing you tonight.”

Draco looked stunned, red-cheeked and staring. He looked Harry up and down as a disdainful sneer replaced the shock on his face. "You? He thinks you can possibly accommodate him?" Draco snorted, but there was a little wariness in his eye when they met Harry's again. "You're in for a surprise, Potter." He turned on his heel with a final sniff, and stalked off into the dark.

Harry closed the door, still light-hearted but with a thread of uneasiness at Draco's parting words. Harry wasn't as good at magic as Draco, though he'd always thought it had a lot to do with all Draco's advantages. He'd grown up around magic, after all, and so of course it was more intuitive than it could be for Harry. And then throughout school, he'd been every teacher's favourite, whereas Harry was treated with dubious charity at best and outright scorn at worst.

But Harry was the apprentice! And if he didn't grasp at some self-confidence now, he never would. So, he held his head up and returned to the drawing room, where the fire still burned but Master Riddle had already left. The door to his private quarters, however, stood open.

Harry put out the fire and then approached the open door cautiously, still half-afraid it was all a misunderstanding, and he would be punished for interrupting Master Riddle. Not that he had punished Harry so far, though once or twice Harry had perceived that he hadn't performed well based upon Master Riddle's sidelong, disappointed frown. That look had been more than enough reprimand for Harry, who had tried to modify his every word and action based upon what seemed to please Master Riddle most. It was curious, Harry thought absently, still walking slowly toward the door. Harry had never been particularly biddable before, but there was something about Master Riddle that inspired it in him.

"Sir?" he asked softly, poking his head through the door. The rooms were more opulent than the rest of the house. This first chamber was a sitting room, wide and richly furnished, the fire place cold. Two doors led out from it; one was open and another closed. The open doorway was emitting a faint light, which Harry followed.

"Come, Harry," called Master Riddle when Harry was halfway through the room and beginning, once more, to hesitate. He couldn't smell Potions fumes or feel the crackle of diffusing spells. What was it that Master Riddle and Draco had been doing? Had Harry misunderstood? Had he volunteered with such confidence for something in which he truly had no business inserting himself?

"Come," Master Riddle called again with more fervour, and this time Harry knew he felt it: the flash of something white-hot and electric in the collar, a pain that lit up in his throat and travelled to his fingertips but was gone too quickly for him to process it altogether. He stumbled forward and into the room and then froze again at once at the sight of Master Riddle standing at the foot of a massive four-poster. The room was otherwise dim.

"S-sir?" Harry tried to say, but his throat was so tight he could only whisper. The collar seemed to pulse, soothing where it had been painful, and Harry shivered and found himself walking forward again, his eyes latched onto Master Riddle and the way the shadows of the room highlighted all the aristocratic angles of his face and made his eyes seem dark and restless.

"You may bring a pillow from the bed," said Master Riddle, "if you have sensitive knees."

"What?" This time Harry managed a sort of strangled word, louder than he intended, and the sound of it in his own ears made him wince. Master Riddle, rather than offended, smiled indulgently and gave the bed a pointed look. Harry turned also, and saw that the headboard was piled with velvet pillows. He managed to grasp one, though his fingers felt hot, tingly, and not quite his own, and he walked on similarly numb feet to stand before his Master.

"You were right to assert yourself today," Master Riddle said, reaching out to brush Harry's hair behind his ears. "Now set the pillow at my feet."  
Harry did, not really thinking through the implications, though he wasn't completely blind to what they had to be. Harry had never thought about sex very much; he had only known the aggressive terror he felt when he imagined propositioning so much as a kiss from a witch. It was much less intense than what he was feeling now, and he realized, also, that he was hard beneath his robes and had been since the collar shocked him.

He arranged the pillow carefully adjacent to Professor Riddle's polished boots.

Before Harry could straighten, he felt a heavy, insistent pressure on his shoulder as Professor Riddle eased him to his knees. Of course, that was what the pillow was for. His sensitive knees.  
Master Riddle kept one hand on the top of Harry's head, his thumb rubbing Harry's damp temple very gently. He wasn't sure when he'd begun to sweat, but he felt it now; he was fever hot, and Master Riddle's hand was a cool anchor. "Now, part my robes."

Harry reached out, and somehow his hands didn't shake. He felt oddly calm and sure as he reached through the fabric and hooked it over Professor Riddle's hips, which were encased in fitted black trousers. His belt was supple black leather and the buckle seemed recently polished. Harry wet his lower lip.

"If you ever require it, perhaps I will use it on you," Master Riddle said. Harry raised his eyes to find Master Riddle gazing down intently, but fondly. "For now, unfasten the buckle."

Harry obeyed, fumbling only a little. He wasn't used to undressing anyone but himself, and the angle was different. He had to jerk hard at the strap to ease the buckle loose and then he hooked his fingers through the buttons of the fly without waiting to be asked, and Master Riddle gazed a handful of his hair so fast and hard it made his eyes water. The collar lit up on his throat and Harry saw stars.

"Wait," murmured Master Riddle.

Harry let his arms fall heavily to his sides. He felt tears sliding from the corners of his eyes and gathering on his jaw. Above him, slightly blurred, Master Riddle stared down with bright red eyes more vivid than anything Harry had ever seen.

"Now," said Master Riddle, releasing Harry's hair so abruptly he gasped. "You may get out my cock."

Harry whimpered; he heard himself. His eyes were still wet with tears, though whether they were from the lingering pain singing in his neck and scalp, humiliation, or ordinary fear he wasn't sure. He didn't care. The cocktail of conflicting emotions made him suddenly desperate to see Master Riddle hard, to please him, to be the source of his every satisfaction, regardless what it took to earn it.

He unfastened the buttons, already feeling an insistent hardness on the other side of the fabric. His mouth was hot and watering. He made a sound, again, when he tugged apart the trousers and Master Riddle's cock was free, as perfect as the rest of him, though large enough that for a long moment Harry's fear won out. He wrestled with the feeling, even as he gently wrapped his fingers around the shaft, startled by the silky texture of the skin and the pleasant heat. He supposed it wasn't unlike his own erection, and felt a burst of confidence, adding his other hand to cup the heavy balls still hidden in the apex of Master Riddle's thighs.

"That is very good. You've learned so quickly, Harry, that you must wait until you're asked."

Harry felt a well of emotion at Master Riddle's words that he didn't understand. He tried to speak, but couldn't, and this time it wasn't the effects of the collar. All he managed was to moan, and sag forward slightly until his head rested on Master Riddle's thigh, still cradling his cock and balls near Harry's face like something precious. He felt the hard muscle of Master Riddle's leg and smelled the spicy scent of his genitals. Master Riddle cupped the back of his head for a few moments, and then gently encircled his throat with his hand and guided him by it to position Harry's mouth at the head of his cock.

"Good boy. Now you may suck."

Harry thought he should have mentioned his inexperience. But Master Riddle’s cock was already sliding over his tongue and brushing his palate, so it was far too late to hesitate now. He felt his teeth graze the underside of the shaft and hastily folded his lower lip over his incisors so it wouldn’t happen again.

“A virgin mouth,” murmured Master Riddle. “Generally, not my taste, but there is a certain allure to being the first.” He sounded exactly as he had when Harry had entered the room. His voice was low and commanding, but he didn’t sound like someone who had his cock halfway down the throat of a boy less than half his age.

He was pressing in steadily, giving Harry no opportunity to adjust, and when Harry gasped and gagged, he didn’t relent, only tugged his hair in a shadow of that first pull. The feeling eased Harry’s instinctive panic and he leaned into the touch, even as Master Riddle’s cock nudged the back of his throat and made it convulse.

“Breathe through your nose,” said Master Riddle.

Harry did, though it was easier said than done, and though his mind was lulled by being caught tight between Master Riddle’s hand and cock, his body was not. He gagged again, and Master Riddle held him firmly until it passed, Harry’s heart pounding like it would burst and drool trailing from the corners of his mouth. Master Riddle murmured unintelligibly and tipped his head back and Harry’s heart soared with pride.

Master Riddle fucked Harry’s mouth. It required nothing of him but to be still, slack-jawed and willing. He surrendered to it, his cock painfully hard, his throat burning from the abuse.  
He couldn’t tell how much time had passed before Master Riddle reached out to balance against the bedpost so he could lift his booted foot and press the sharp toe firmly and painfully against Harry’s balls, but Harry forgot how to breathe all over again.

After that Harry lost track of things. His hands scrambled to Master Riddle’s hips, to push him away or bring him closer, he couldn’t have said. His eyes were streaming profusely and his vision was narrowing dizzily, so much so it was easier to close them. He hadn’t though Master Riddle could bury himself more deeply, but he held Harry’s hair and arched his head back, and Harry couldn’t breathe at all with his nose pressed tight to his pubic bone. Involuntarily, Harry swallowed as if he was a thirsty man drinking from a fountain.

Master Riddle came like that, too deep for Harry to taste, teetering toward unconsciousness. He knew it was happening because Master Riddle gasped and his cock pulsed on Harry’s tongue in a delicate rhythm.

Just when Harry might have passed out completely, Master Riddle pulled out. He knelt to ease a wobbling Harry back onto the carpet.

“You did very well, for a beginner,” Master Riddle was saying. Harry was crying softly. “Shhh,” shushed Master Riddle, putting his cheek against Harry’s so his breath and voice travelled directly into his ear. The carpet was soft.

Master Riddle nudged apart Harry’s legs and slotted his thigh between them, then pressed. It felt dizzying, almost too much at once. Harry whimpered, loud and keening.

“You are doing very well, but now I would like you to come.”

Harry shook his head slowly, sobbing in earnest. “C-can’t.” The overstimulation was almost enough to make him flag, and Master Riddle was settling his weight harder against him, not rubbing or easing back.

“I asked you nicely,” Master Riddle said, with a threatening, yet kind edge to his voice. “Now come for me, and you may rest.”

The collar blazed with sudden heat, and Harry came. He felt it in his entire body, drenched loose from his cock and his fingers and toes. It was the best and worst feeling he could ever recall.

And then he felt nothing at all, except as though he was floating. But he heard very well all the quiet praise that Master Riddle whispered to him, and it eased him into a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

Harry woke some time the next day, tucked into his bed and with the strong sense that he had dreamed something that he couldn’t remember. Then he jerked upright, and a searing pain in his throat assured him he hadn’t dreamed it at all. He felt his face painfully flush.

Harry scrambled out of bed and into the Hall, hearing his knees crack as he stood up, careless of the fact he was dressed in pyjamas—Master Riddle had undressed him, then dressed him again—and his hair smelled faintly of an unfamiliar shampoo.

But the more pressing distraction was that it was, again, early evening, and he saw Draco Malfoy’s cloak on a peg by the door.

Harry saw red. All the feelings he had of perfect warmth and security fled, and before he knew it, he was running on bare feet to Master Riddle’s private rooms and throwing open the door.

The door to Master Riddle’s bedroom, left invitingly open the night before, was closed. But the other door was open, and Harry could hear Draco’s voice from within. still acting without pause for thought, Harry flung himself through, and started to say in through his roughened throat, “ **What** — “

Draco looked up curiously from a long table where he was mincing dried rat tails. “Potter, what on Earth?” He looked from Harry’s bare feet to his red and blotted face with startled horror.

“Ah, Harry,” Master Riddle said from the doorway. Harry spun in place to stare at him. He was fully clothed and carrying four empty Potions vials, which he held out to Malfoy. Malfoy hastened to collect them. When his hands were free, Master Riddle covered Harry’s forehead with a cool palm. His expression was solemn, but his eyes glinted with smug amusement.

“Are you still feeling the effects of last night? Better take your rest.” He turned and left the room.

“I told you, Potter,” Draco sneered, self-satisfied as ever, then sneezed explosively. “Your weak Muggle genes can’t tolerate so much exposure to Dark brewing. You thought you could replace me! Ridiculous.”

Harry remained turned away. since Draco couldn’t see his face, he allowed himself a slow smile. “Quite right,” he said, voice a rasp. “My mistake.”

**Author's Note:**

> Credit goes to my second wife, who doesn't want to associate with this lol <3


End file.
